


Cupid's Bonfires

by musiquetta



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mythology, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Alternative Universe - Flower Shop/Tattoo Artist, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-17 02:01:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4648059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musiquetta/pseuds/musiquetta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allison finds herself in a bit of a pinch when she gets a special commission for a flower tattoo that she can't get right. Luckily for her, there's a lovely little flower shop that might help her. Especially the company from the otherworldly florist holds promise, when she asks for a favor in return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cupid's Bonfires

**Author's Note:**

  * For [disappointionist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/disappointionist/gifts).



> Written for the Teen Wolf Femslash Exchange. I threw some of your prompts in a blender and this is what came out. I hope you like it <3
> 
> The title's from Muses That Sing Love's Sensual Empery by George Chapman.

 

“And that's it for today,” Allison chimed, setting the tattoo machine aside. Erica lifted her head off the padding off the tattoo bench, grinning at Allison over his shoulder.

 

“How does it look?” she asked, craning her neck to gain a glimpse of the new ink adorning the outside of her thigh.

 

“Hold still, I need to wrap you up.” Allison said, grabbing the antiseptic ointment and the nearby bandages to put them over the deep black lines framed by red, irritated skin.

 

“I wanna see,” Erica pouted.

 

“You're gonna see soon enough; when it's properly done and working.” Allison tied off the bandages. Sigil magic had always been her forte, even before she had expanded her career from witch to tattoo artist with a supernatural touch. “You need to come by a few weeks from now for touching up. If it's holding the ink well, I'll charge it and then you'll be all glamoured up all the time.”

 

“Yesss,” Erica hissed, hopping off the bench. “I can barely wait.”

 

“Not that I’m complaining about it,” Allison said.  “but you’re spending a lot of money on a glamour, when you're so pretty already.”

 

Erica huffed, turning in front if the bottom-length mirror, eyes fixed on the the band wrapped around her thigh. “Pretty is for housewives and girl scouts, I wanna be … ethereal.”

 

Allison chuckled, pulling off the plastic gloves and throwing them in the bin. “Well, you're gonna be, I can promise you that.”

 

“Plus, it's gonna look really rad.” Erica said, tracing the lines on the sketch lying open on Allison's desk.

 

“That too.”

 

“By the way, Isaac sends his love.” Erica drawled, looking at the wall pictures, satisfied customers showing off their pieces. Some had opted to stick with the pure black lines swirling in intricate patterns, others had chosen to hide them within other motives. Allison assured her that neither was more or less effective – the details of why remained her trade secret though. “He says that tattoo you gave him does wonders for his anxiety.”

 

“Yeah? I'm glad to hear that.” It had been an effort to design; sigils that worked inward, on the recipient's emotions, could always backfire. Erica's newest piece on the other hand was meant to give strangers a fleeting impression of dazzling beauty that would not last forever – all flash and no heat.

 

Allison said her goodbyes, closing up the shop for the day. It was some time into the afternoon, but Allison had cleared her schedule for the night. There was a commission, a request for a tattoo design, waiting for her that couldn't be put off any longer.

 

At sunset, she was no further along than she was this morning – or two weeks ago. Allison straightened her back, muscles aching from being hunched over the desk. Littered around her were scrunched up pieces of paper with color smeared over them.

 

The screen of her computer was plastered with pictures of the same tree, over and over. On the table more than a dozen different shades of pink lay in various mediums but still she couldn't quite capture the essence of her motive.

 

The commission had come via email a few days ago. It was strange for a customer to never meet face to face to discuss possible motives, but everything seemed to be in order and quite a convincing downpayment had washed away any lingering reservations Allison had. Besides, it wasn't a supernatural request of any kind, just a simple flower tattoo. She was convinced it was a day's work, at most.

 

At least until she actually sat down and tried her hand at realizing the motive.

 

Everything she put on paper came out looking dull and unnatural.

 

“Unnatural.” Allison said out loud to the empty room, spinning around on her chair to the window. Across the street and a few houses down stood a building framed by delicate green-painted iron. Bright light flooded through the glass between the iron frames and behind it, lush green foliage stretched toward the sky. Maybe it was her lucky day and looking at the real thing would get her out of this predicament.

 

Allison hesitated, spinning her pencil between her fingers, thinking.

 

“Why the hell not,” she murmured, grabbing her leather jacket and her keys as headed out.

 

In front of the greenhouse that dominated the street was a small shop offering bouquets and potted plants alike. When Allison got there, the door was slightly ajar and the sign on the door still read 'open', so Allison stepped in.

 

Light was burning in the salesroom, the humid air intensifying the fruity scent of the flowers in full bloom.

 

“Hello?” Allison called out, walking further in, past a few potted bushes and young trees, ready for planting. Her heels clacking on the tiles floor were the only sound in the heady atmosphere.

 

Most of these flowers Allison had never seen, though they did emit the most tantalizing fragrance. As she walked past plant after plant, she called out a few more times. At the end of the aisle a broad arch of cast iron lead into the large attached greenhouse.

 

“Anyone here?” Allison called into the dense jungle. Her only answer was dead silence, hanging over the bushes and tall grown trees. She stepped forward, nearly stumbling over the uneven earth. The tiles covering the floor ended a few paces into into the room, giving way to trampled mud paths winding through the plants.

 

“Hi there,” a voice lilted behind her. Allison startled, whipping around on her heels. A young woman stood beneath the archway, barefoot with her hands covered in soil. Her knee-length dress was miraculously spared from the earth that clung to the rest of her body, the fabric fluttering in a breeze Allison couldn't feel.

 

“Oh sorry, I didn't see you back there.”

 

“No trouble. It's easy to get lost in here.”

 

Allison threw a look over her shoulder, back to the winding pathways. “Yeah, no kidding.” she murmured as she followed the woman into the shop.

 

“You're the tattoo artist, aren't you? The one from across the street?” Allison nodded. “I've seen your work, it's most … impressive.” She smiled around the last word as if she knew a secret. Unconsciously, Allison felt herself reaching out, broadening her senses to find nearby magic.

 

She found nothing. Maybe Boyd was right and she was getting paranoid.

 

“Thank you,” Allison said, smiling. “your shop is very beautiful, too. I've never seen so many gorgeous flowers in one place. Most of these flowers I haven’t seen, period.”

 

“You should see the back” the woman laughed, “but, tell me. What can I do for you?”

 

“Well, I got this commision a few days back. I've been trying to get it right, but – I thought maybe if I saw the real thing it'd help. You don't happen to have any myrtle around here?”

 

“Ah, myrtle. Beautiful blossoms, delicious fruit. Pictures never do it justice – I don't have any here now, but I could have, very soon. Does the day after tomorrow sound good?”

 

“That'd be great,” Allison said, fumbling for her wallet, but the woman held up her hand.

 

“I won't ask for money, but I could use a favour.”

 

“Sure,” Allison said, before thinking too clearly.

 

“There is a gathering tomorrow night.” she said. “For me, going alone will be dangerous. There are people there that won't leave me alone, that have been pursuing me … for longer than you would believe.”

 

“You want me to go with you? As your bodyguard?”

 

The woman smiled that secretive smile again. “As my lover.”

 

“What?” Allison sputtered. “Are you sure?”

 

“Most certainly. I've tried a lot to get them off my back, only thing that ever seemed to work was showing up on the arm of someone as beautiful as you. Besides, you could say I was given a sign.”

 

Allison laughed nervously, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. “Well if that's so, then yeah, sure. I'll go. I'll pretend to be your lover who is absolutely enamoured with you and will punch anyone that dares to disrespect you.”

 

“Only pretend to? How disappointing.” the woman drawled, retreating towards the greenhouse.

 

“Wait,” Allison called after her. “what's your name?”

 

The woman turned under the archway, framed by green light, filtering through the foliage. “You can call me Lydia.”

 

Allison smiled. “Then I'll see you tomorrow, Lydia.”

 

Lydia smiled and disappeared into the thicket.

 

Allison stepped outside into the cold air of the night. The sun had set some time ago and the rush of fresh air made her dizzy for a moment. She shook her head to clear her thoughts, walking down the street.

 

Slowly, what happened sunk into her mind. She stopped, turning back to the flower shop, letting her eyes roam over it and the greenhouse looming behind it. Against the deep blue sky the green-tinted glow of the light streaming out of the glass panels seemed eerie, almost otherworldly.

 

Once more, Allison reached out, lifting her hand towards the building, waiting for the tell-tale tingle of magic electrifying her palm.

 

Nothing happened.

 

The next morning she dragged herself down the stairs. Her sleep had been restless, a nameless dread hanging over her. She had even gone as far as to strengthen the wards on her window, suspecting a spirit of disturbing her sleep. Braving her ragged reflection in mirror she did her best to tie her hair up in a semi-orderly bun and cover the rings below her eyes under layers of make-up.

 

Downstairs, the needle of the tattoo machine was already buzzing.

 

“Morning Boyd,” she called to her employee’s back, bent over the back of a customer. A grumbled reply came. Allison gained a glimpse of the motive; a simple dragon, no hidden enchantment or anything.

 

The little kitchen adjacent to the studio was cluttered but it held the coffee machine and after a night like she had, it was all that mattered. She brewed a whole pot and had finished half of it herself when Boyd stepped in.

 

“Rough night?” he asked, eyeing the almost empty coffee pot.

 

“You have no idea.” Allison mumbled, starting her fifth try to make sense of the newspaper article she had been reading for the past ten minutes.

 

“Normal-rough or the kind of rough that involves spirits and other nasty stuff?”

 

“Not sure yet. I have to do a proper cleansing soon anyways, maybe ask Deaton for a hand.” She poured herself another cup, willing this one to be the one that finally pushed her over the edge of sleep-drunk into wide-awake-until-the-inevitable-crash. “How's Erica, by the way?”

 

“Unbearable. She keeps picking at the bandages, but we knew that was going to happen.”

 

Allison chuckled. “Don't worry, I'll do what I can to squeeze her in as soon as possible.”

 

The day blurred past in a frenzy, and before she knew it, Allison saw Boys off and locked up the front door. She dragged herself up the stairs to her apartment, flopping down on the couch, feeling her eyes droop shut.

 

Moments later, she startled upright again.

 

“Lydia.” she whispered, remembering her promise, to accompany the enigmatic florist. Hurrying to her closet, she threw off her t-shirt, pulling on a simple grey tank top.

 

She put on her favourite leather jacket against the late autumn cold, bolting out the door not ten minutes later.

 

Lydia sat on the brickstone wall in front of the house, wearing leather sandals and a dress made of flowing green fabric. Her long red hair shimmered in the moonlight, with garlands of flowers woven into some strands.

 

Allison looked down on herself, taking in her black jeans and leather boots. “Am I dressed right for this?” she wondered aloud.

 

Lydia chuckled and jumped down from the wall, walking towards Allison. “You'll fit right in.” she said, reaching into the satchel dangling on her shoulder, to pull out a wreath of flowers. “Let down your hair.”

 

Allison reached up to pull out the hair tie holding her curls in place. Chestnut brown locks tumbled down the sides of her face. Lydia hummed in satisfaction, lifting the wreath to place it on Allison's head.

 

“Perfect.” she said, stepping back to admire her work.

 

“Did you just give me a flower crown?” Allison chuckled in disbelief.

 

Lydia shrugged. “It brings out your eyes.”

 

Allison followed Lydia out of the garden and onto the street. No car but her own was parked there, but Lydia walked right past it.

 

“Do you want me to drive?” Allison asked, reaching for her car keys.

 

“It's not all that far, and it is such a lovely night,” Lydia objected, holding out her hand. “Let's walk.”

 

Allison took Lydia's hand, following her down the street. All too soon the houses blurred, and Allison saw ghosts of other cities, glimpsed into the deepest forests, all blending along the roadside as she followed Lydia further and further away from home.

 

They stopped on pliable ground. The smell of pine trees and crisp fire filled the air of the dark forest around them. Lydia turned to face Allison again, an unearthly sheen clinging to her skin.

 

“That's one hell of a glamour you got on your home.” Allison laughed, out of breath, though she felt they had not walked for more than a few minutes. “I couldn't feel anything.”

 

“Thank you, I take great care to maintain it.” Lydia smiled. “Yours could use a little polishing though. Your home is a beacon.”

 

“I'm more skilled in offense,” Allison admitted, falling into step beside Lydia, walking towards the lights flickering between the trees. “But I just gotta ask – what are you?”

 

Lydia laughed, just as other figures, clad in flowing white broke through the trees. “That's a bit of a rude question for a first date.”

 

“I thought this was just pretend.” Allison teased, just as loud giggling broke through the trees behind them and a girl, no taller than the palm of her hand, flew past her in a flurry of light and sparkles, followed by an irritated bearded man, hobbling over the ground on hooved feet at the end of his furry legs.

 

Allison gaped. She was a witch by trade and had been all her life. She had summoned fire with her mind and healed deadly wounds with herbs and chanting. But this?

 

Way above her pay grade.

 

Lydia shrugged. “This is hardly the place to discuss what is real and what is not, don't you agree? Most would argue none of it is.”

 

“And I'd say, all I see with my own eyes is real.” Allison muttered, squeezing Lydia’s hand, which was still entangled with her own

 

“Then I guess we'll see.” Lydia went ahead towards the lights in front of them. Allison struggled to keep up, always stopping to stare before reminding herself that it was rude to do so.

 

The clearing they stepped onto – and Allison was fully aware how Boyd would laugh when she would tell him – was magical.

 

Children conjured butterflies of pure light, snow was falling where the drinks stood. There was a centaur handing out ice cream. Lydia returned to her side, two drinks in hand, just as Allison stepped aside to make way for children with suspiciously pointy ears ran past her.

 

“So,” Allison said,leaning against a tree trunk a bit away from the mayhem and weirdness. “you mentioned some … forces that you need protecting from?”

 

Lydia stopped her humming and she shook her head. “Let's not talk about this; they wouldn't dare attack me in the open anyway.”

 

“So, what? This was all just a hoax to get me here?”

 

“Better safe than sorry? I did say I was impressed by your work. I had even been toying with the idea of some tattoo of my own, to finally get you alone with me.”

 

“Oh did you? And now that you have me, what will you do with me?”

 

“I think I'll … ” Lydia drawled, leaning forward, close enough that the tips of their hair was tangling in the gentle breeze in the clearing “Dance,” Lydia whispered against her lips, grabbing Allison's hand and pulling her into the midst of it all.

 

Allison laughed and danced with her, moving to an ever changing music, until all she saw was Lydia's hair, Lydia's dress – Lydia’s eyes in the moonlight.

 

They were alone, suddenly, dancing between trees, music and light far away, as if she had her head under water.

 

Allison shuddered. She stopped moving, turning to look at the crowd dancing. Where before it had all been peaceful, harmonious, a spike of energy had startled Allison out of her serenity, like a record scratch in the middle of her favourite piece. Lydia’s hand touched her arm.

 

“Everything alright?” Lydia asked, keeping her voice low, almost too low to hear her over the music. Allison extended her senses to the best of her ability, trying to find that particular disturbance in the crowd, but found nothing.

 

“Just a blip,” she said, turning to face Lydia again. “but it seems to be gone now.”

 

Lydia smiled again, sliding her fingertips over Allison’s bare arm, her shoulder before wrapping it around her neck. She was so beautiful.

 

“Ethereal,” Allison whispered, remembering the image she had had in her mind, the particular taste of grace, the hint of otherworldliness that she imagined when she had worked on the glamour.

 

Lydia smiled and leaned forward to kiss her.

 

Allison awoke in her own bed the next morning. The rest of the night had passed like a dream; it was one of those nights that would be a perfect one, years after, when memory had washed down the tiredness and the pain from dancing all night. Except it was barely morning and already that unmistakeable haze of perfection hung over it.

 

One bright band of sunlight broke through the blinds on her window as the sun climbed high into the sky.

 

She smiled as she woke.

 

Right after that her brain made the connection – the sun was up. Allison cursed.

 

Her commision was due tonight and she still hadn't done anything for it. In the haze of it all she hadn't even mentioned it to Lydia again – she hoped the enigmatic woman hadn't forgotten about their bargain.

 

She did her best to make herself presentable, gauging she had a good two hours before her first client came, enough time to get the myrtle bush from Lydia's and hopefully make a decent design.

 

She ran out the back door, startling when she threw open the door – a vast shadow canopied her garden. Her eyes needed a moment to adjust to the sunlight, but then she recognized it. Clinging to the wall of her building, white and delicate flowers dotting the deeply green foliage was a bush that had grown tall over night.

 

Myrtle.

 

Allison still laughed when as Boyd came up behind her from the studio to see what she was laughing about.

 

“Do I wanna know?” he asked, sighing loudly at Allison's pretty much completely overgrown garden.

 

“I'm not sure if I know myself,” Allison chuckled, rushing past him to get her sketching supplies and a blanket. She sat down in the middle of it her garden and started drawing.

 

It worked like a miracle.

 

Suddenly, she could work out nuances that the pictures never had captured. Where she could barely get the blossom to look right when she wasn’t working off of the real thing, now any and all styles she had ever learned flew out of her head like she was born to draw anything else. She knew this was going to be a beautiful tattoo.

 

Boyd called her in for her first appointment of the day when she had just finished what she was convinced was the masterpiece of her morning’s work.

 

The rest of the day passed easily; when she said her goodbyes to the last customer of the day, her cheeks hurt from all the smiling.

 

“What has gotten into you?” Boys asked, when they sat in the tattoo studio's cramped kitchen together, drinking coffee.

 

“Had a good day that's all. Finally got somewhere with that commission that's been kicking my ass.”

 

“And that giant hickey on your neck has nothing to do with it?” he asked, eyes resting on Allison's collar. Allison slapped her hand over it, whipping around to the mirror hanging on the wall near the door. She removed her hand and saw – nothing.

 

Boyd cackled behind her. “You're about as hard to read as a neon sign, Argent.”

 

Allison glared at him over her cup of coffee. When he was gone, Allison decided she needed to thank Lydia, for her gift of nature, but also for last night. Allison couldn't remember the last time she had enjoyed herself that much.

 

She grabbed her sketchbook – showing off a bit couldn't hurt – and walked out the front door and onto the street. Immediately her magic sense started tingling. Something was off and not just a bit.

 

“Lydia,” she murmured, falling into a jog towards the little flower shop.

 

The door stood wide open, but no light was on inside.

 

She hurried through the shop and towards the back, where the tiled floor gave way to pure earth.

 

Something was off; she felt it again and again. When she had last been here the magic had been different, soft like a brook, fitting into nature, and flowing around natural barriers. This magic was different – it was jackhammer pressing through stones to make way, acrid stench of dark magic attacking Allison's nose.

 

There was no doubt about it – it was the same unsettling brand of supernatural that Allison had detected last night. She sprinted into the maze of plants growing right out of the ground; she didn't dare call out.

 

By now she had run for minutes and still had not reached the end – the spell extending the innards of the greenhouse was doing a great job, and normally she would marvel at the ingenuity of the magic, but right now she grew more tense with each step. Allison aimed for where the thicket grew larger. Finally, she broke into a clearing.

 

A giant oak stood there; it must be centuries old, stretching so far up there was no way the ceiling could hold it. Looking up at the sky, Allison couldn't even see the iron framework of the greenhouse.

 

She hurried towards it – this was the center of it all.

 

A wooden chair lay on the other side, turned over, a book splayed open beside it. Allison's knees buckled as she drew closer, finally seeing the gleaming blade jammed into the tree. Along the edge of gleaming steel poured a bright red liquid.

 

Lydia was nowhere to be seen.

 

Allison swallowed heavily, her heart beat against her chest as her mind raced through every book and every scroll she had ever read, trying to make sense of it all, of what Lydia was – of what was after her. What had taken her from her home and left her tree bleeding.

 

“Her tree,” Allison murmured, recalling her backyard, and the bare feet, covered in soil. The flowers in her hair. She bolted forward, tearing out the blade from between the bark of the tree, casting it aside. She jammed her palm against the wound oozing clear resin.

 

“Please,” she whispered, calling out to the tree, “lead me to her.”

 

The tree was part of Lydia, as dryads always were one with the tree they inhabited, and thus she had something of Lydia's, something she could use to track down her attackers and let hell follow behind her.

 

Somewhere else, in a cold hard room of stone, Lydia took a gasping breath. Her lungs hurt like they were breathing clay, not stale damp air. A gentle touch seemed to cradle her side, where the agony congregated.

 

Lydia focused on her breathing as the pain subsided.

 

Soothing sharp cold poured over the pulsing flesh at her side, calming her down, clearing her mind enough that she could take in her surroundings. She was chained to the walls of ancient stone, with high narrow windows littering across the walls.

 

A castle perhaps, or another ancient building.

 

She had been reading earlier, waiting for Allison to come by and then – all she remembered was a sudden pain in her side that had sent her tumbling from her chair. And then, gleaming red eyes.

 

She cursed. It had been careless of her, staying in the same place as long as she had. But the soil had been plentiful and the neighbours were, well.

 

“Allison,” Lydia hissed. She reached for her powers and found them wanting. With metres of stone between her and earth, and her body still healing, the odds were stacked against her. The cuffs were wrapped tight against her wrists, and the metal was hot against her skin.

 

“They're made from bronze,” a cold voice called from the shadows. “you'll only exert yourself.”

 

Lydia knew the voice, it had been haunting her nightmares – those at night and those that came while she was awake.

 

“And you will regret ever laying hands on me,” she growled, tugging on her bonds anyway.

 

Peter Hale stepped out of the shadows, smiling. “Why? Because your 'gods' will come to your aid? Turn you into a tree, lift you from this earthly plain and, “ he sighed dramatically, “just to remove you from the dirty mortals?”

 

“No,” Lydia growled, glaring up at her attacker. “I will kill you myself.”

 

“That's adorable.” he chuckled. “Can we take a trip down memory lane first? I mean, you evaded me for so long, I could barely believe it when I saw you last night. I knew it was a sign from – well, not your gods, that much I'm sure of. Unless they really, really hate you and wanted to deliver you into my hands.” “Now, I seem to recall, you and your little friends, killing me, so maybe this is karma.”

 

“Well if you ask me, you're not dead enough.”

 

“And that's all your thanks to you. How do you know I do not simply want to thank you, shower you with gifts and affections?”

 

“Keep talking and I might just throw up. Also you as a psychopath and all around scumbag might not know this, but if you're just thanking someone, you usually don't stab them and drag them off.”

 

“Technically, I stabbed your tree, not you.” Peter lectured, drawing a dagger from the sheath at his belt. “Now, I will stab _you_. Slowly.”

 

“We'll see about that,” hissed a voice from somewhere above. Seconds later a bright light exploded in front of them. Lydia heard a growl and the tell-tale sound of bones cracking and shifting. She blinked against the stars dancing before her eyes; she could barely make out the figures fighting in the room – one small and one hulking, with gleaming red eyes.

 

Arrows whirred through the air, grunting, slapping, fighting noises, a high-pitched whine. Footsteps on the floor. Warm hands settled on her shoulders.

 

“Are you okay, Lydia?” Allison whispered, fumbling for the restraints holding Lydia's hands. She whispered an incantation and the bronze shackles clicked open. “Are you hurt?”

 

Lydia shook her head. “I’m good.”

 

Across the room, Peter moved from where he lay on the ground. A mighty roar tore through the night. Allison cursed.“We’ll have to fight,” she growled.

 

“Good,” Lydia hissed. “He's lived far past his time.” She swayed.

 

Allison jumped to her side, sweeping her arm around Lydia’s waist. “I just need to get outside.” Lydia panted, fighting against the dizziness rising in her weakened body.

 

Allison nodded, just as Peter growled, his monstrous alpha form jumping to its feet again. The witch reached into her back, throwing a salve of sachets, shielding Lydia against the blast of pure light.

 

They ran. Lydia followed Allison through a maze of tunnels as they listened for the echo of claws scratching over the floor. At the end they burst through the remains of a smoldering wooden gate.

 

“Your doing?” Lydia panted, as they left the smoke behind them.

 

“I knocked; no one answered.” Allison shrugged, as a roar tore out of the castle behind them.

 

Lydia breathed fresh air, feeling power rush through her as they sprinted towards the woods. As they neared the first trees, Lydia stopped, turning around. Allison stuttered to a halt a few paces after her.

 

Lydia turned to face the ruined castle entrance, where Peter was lifting himself up on his hind legs, baring his teeth. “Allison,” Lydia said, her mind reaching into the earth. “ready your bow.”

 

“Yeah, about that. I kinda ran out of arrows.” the witch admitted, positioning herself in front of Lydia. Out of the soil beside Lydia grew three saplings with all their branches winding upwards around the trunk, rapidly forming three straight trunks.

 

“You’re gonna have to improvise,” Lydia huffed, stripping off stray leaves and roots.

 

“Those are sticks, not arrows,” Allison hissed, grabbing them as Peter dropped to all fours again, getting ready to attack. “And three aren’t going to slow him down.”

 

“Get witchy with it,” Lydia yelled, lifting her hand. Tendrils burst through the ground, snapping around the alpha’s legs. “And trust me, three of these? Will finish him.”

 

“Oh, Hecate, here goes.” Allison sighed, muttering the incantation that made arrows fly true. She didn’t usually like to – or need to – resort to it but when there was a 400 pound homicidal wolf man charging towards you, pride was the valued trait of a dead person.

 

The first makeshift arrow hit the shoulder and sent the creature howling. Allison gasped – her other arrows had merely pissed it off but this one? She sent another after, hitting Peter’s leg. The third pierced the throat.

 

A pathetic howl rang through the night and the werewolf collapsed on the ground, dark blood spilling forth from his dark pelt.

 

Lydia took a step forward as more plants grew, uprooting the earth. This time, he wasn’t going to come back, not ever, she thought as she weaved a burial mound of mountain ash to accompany the arrows stuck in his corpse.

 

“Lydia?” came Allison’s voice from behind her, piercing through the anger boiling in her stomach. Lydia smiled at Allison, shaking off the last of Peter’s taint over her mind. He would hurt her no more.

 

“Took you long enough,” she huffed. “Some bodyguard you are.”

 

“If that’s Ancient Greek for ‘thank you’, you’re welcome.” Allison replied, strapping her bow to her back again. “And I thought I was your lover.”

 

“Oh, you think that?” Lydia teased, walking towards her. “Big words for someone who ran out of _arrows_ of all things.”

 

“Like you were doing so great in there.” Allison laughed, holding out her hand, waiting for Lydia to take it.

 

“Really? You’re going to save the girl and then just hold her hand?” Lydia snorted, but reached out to take Allison’s hand anyway. Allison smiled, pulling Lydia close until their faces were almost touching.

 

“Who said anything about ‘just’?” Allison whispered against Lydia’s lips before kissing her.

 

Allison awoke late the next morning, jolting upright at the realization that her commission had been due yesterday evening. With all that had happened, she had gone and forgotten all about it. Her sketchbook still lay on the ground, next to Lydia's oak, where she had dropped it when she first realized the fate that had befallen Lydia.

 

Next to her, Lydia made a disgruntled sound, pulling the cover over her head.

 

Allison rushed out of bed and towards her computer to email an apology to her client.

 

When she opened her email inbox, she saw an email from them already waiting for her.

 

Allison cursed under her breath, mentally preparing herself for some harsh opinions about her ways of doing business.

 

The mail opened and was – pleasant. A note of thanks and congratulations were all it said right there on the screen.

 

“What the hell?” Allison murmured.

 

“What the hell what?” Lydia mumbled from under the covers.

 

“That commission, the one I came to you for? I kinda forgot about it and now I got a thank you note for completing it.” she summarized, rereading the text for a fifth time.

 

Lydia hummed, emerging from the blankets with a thoughtful face. “What’s the name of the customer?”

 

“Anonymous, I guess. The signature just says ‘A.’” Allison wrecked her brain for an explanation as Lydia chuckled.

 

“I should’ve figured this was her the moment you said ‘myrtle’,” Lydia mumbled, disappearing under the covers again.

 

“Figured this was who?” Allison asked, getting silence in reply. “Lydia?”

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Myrtle is Aphrodite's sacred flower, poke poke, nudge nudge.


End file.
